American Horror Story: Coven - Witch Hunt
by mutiesquiddle
Summary: After the death of her mother, Cordelia Goode has risen to the title of Supreme of a witch coven in New Orleans - and as her first act, she has outed witches to the world, leading them into a new era where they can thrive alongside humans. But with this revelation comes terrible backlash, thrusting them into even more danger. Can the coven protect themselves from humanity?
1. Prelude

"If you don't want to dissect a dead frog, you'll have to dissect a live one."

My eyes scanned the scene. A modern science classroom, full of middle school students seated at high desks, metallic trays in front of them displaying dead, splay-legged frogs pinned into the soft rubbery guards. All eyes were turned towards a window desk, where the teacher held a scalpel in a young woman's hand, forcing it toward the frog – only this one wasn't dead. I could feel the life radiating off the little creature, hear its heartbeat race as the sharp edge came closer and closer.

The second I lay eyes on her I knew that this had to be her own personal hell. Even as powerful as I was, being in alternate hells could be very disorienting; things glitched and slid in and out of focus, leaping from moment to moment when they lagged. Only the girl was crystal clear – early twenties, unkempt blonde hair, and pale skin hidden under an all-black ensemble. Sweat gleamed off her face, contorted in anguish, as she let out a devastated scream when the blade pressed deep into the frog. She threw her head back in agony as I felt the frog's life trickle away slowly, blood seeping from the deep cut down its belly.

When the incision was complete, the teacher walked briskly back to his desk at the back of the class. This young woman sobbed violently, shaking as she desperately held her trembling hands over the metal tray. Curious, I moved closer, passing through the classroom as though it were nothing but a thick fog. I peered over her shoulder as she whispered small words down at the little, mutilated frog… but it was too late. The frog's life was gone.

Shaking my head, I turned to leave, already releasing the illusion from my grasp when I suddenly felt a tug from behind me, as though a fist had clenched my heart and was dragging it backward. I whipped around just in time to see the wound on the frog's belly heal itself instantaneously, then witnessed the little creature flip onto its feet and croak weakly. The life radiated from its healed body as though it had never left.

This had to be a witch.

I shook my head in disapproval. Why the witches seemed intent on flipping between their reality and the underworld as if it were some kind of sport never made sense to me; it seemed this one was too late. She mustn't have returned to the world of the living in enough time – she was as cold and dead as any other.

"Mr. Kramer, she did it again!"

A boy, seated at a table just next to her, was peering down at the reanimated creature. I watched as the miserable middle school teacher marched back to the young witch's desk, ignoring her feeble retorts as he lifted the scalpel once again and thrust it into her hands.

"No, no, no, please, please don't make me kill a living thing, please don't!" The young woman was screeching at the top of her lungs in a hoarse, scratchy voice touched with a Southern accent. It was pathetic to watch, to be perfectly honest – a young person, stolen before her time, trapped in an endless loop of horrors. I shook my head and waved a hand just before the teacher opened his mouth.

As though I had pressed a pause button, every person in the room besides the witch, the frog and me – the teacher, the students, the tattletale boy – froze in their positions. Not realizing for a moment, the young woman continued yelling, protesting against the teacher, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shhh, shhh," I muttered to her quietly. "There's no need to be afraid, young one."

She opened her eyes and looked around, sweat gleaming on her forehead. Then she began to cry, her shoulders rising and falling with each heavy sob. "Oh please, oh please God, please free me from this! Please, I beg of you! Let me go!" she wailed, clutching my coat and resting her head on my stomach.

"Relax, child," I said a little louder. But she was so weak and so agonized that she tumbled off her stool, melting into a puddle of tears and pain. Even I was surprised; I'd seen hells full of boredom, full of sadness and rage, and even agony – whenever the pain made sense. But never had I ever seen such compassion in a human.

Not a human, I had to remind myself. A witch. Taken before her time by her own overconfidence.

"You do not belong here, _ma cherie_," I whispered, bending down. She kept her head hidden in her arms, wailing softly to herself. Blood coated her small, pale hands, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor soul. I lifted a hand and stroked it lightly. "When will your kind learn that hell is no play place?" I clicked my tongue. "No one will save you here, little one."

She looked up at me, her eyes as wide as the moon, glowing in misery. "Please, please, send me somewhere else, send me anywhere else!" she begged. "I can't, I can't live like this anymore, I can't, I can't…"

"Of course you can't," I answered softly. "The underworld is no place for living. Surely you knew that."

She began to wail again, and hid her face once more. In all the eternities that I had spent passing through the dark afterlives of helpless souls, innocent and guilty, never had I once felt even a touch of pity. But seeing the witch writhe on the ground, so young and pure, I couldn't help but feel badly for her. And so I rose to my feet and pulled her up with me.

At first she resisted, obviously terrified and untrusting. I rolled my eyes. "Come, come, before I change my mind," I growled at her. She sniffled and looked up at me, then began staggering to her feet. With my free hand I lifted the reanimated frog off the dissection tray and examined it. No scars, no damage… a perfect piece of life in the land of the dead. Something not everyone could manage.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"You want to leave, no?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. She nodded vehemently. "Then I will return you to the land of the living, my dear. It's clear you do not belong here… not yet, anyway." I turned and pulled her along, through the classroom that was her own hell.

"But… but I don't understand," she began.

"You may find the mortal world will have changed for you, of course," I told her. "Most find it has. But when your time comes I will be back for you, _ma cherie_, and that time I won't be quite so forgiving. Make it count."

And with that the prison of horrors closed behind us, fading into darkness as I pulled her through the fabrics of reality to the world she once called home.


	2. Man on Fire

** Isabel**

* * *

It was moments like this when I had to pinch myself, literally pinch myself, to make sure I wasn't in some kind of dream. But I suppose if I was asleep, I should've woken up long ago.

I guess the realization that witches were, indeed, real, living things shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. It was about a month after Cordelia Goode, daughter of celebrity socialite Fiona Goode, rocked the world with news it could seemingly never recover from: magic was very real and very alive, and for hundreds of years a secret coven of these witches had been hiding out in New Orleans after the Salem witch trials made them flee from the east. I could remember hearing the news as if it were yesterday – sitting on the floor of my living room, staring at the TV, the shatter of a dish my mother was drying as it hit the floor when Cordelia Goode came forward. As expected, many people thought it was a joke, or a conspiracy – but for us it had to be true.

I was fourteen years old when my powers developed. They made as little sense to me as they did to anyone else; I was arguing with my mother over a boy I'd been seeing, so angry I was almost seeing red. I had let out a scream of rage, and in that moment, every light bulb, every wall socket, every piece of technology in our little kitchen exploded in a shower of sparks. Neither of us knew what had happened, and we agreed to keep it quiet.

Only my powers wouldn't go away. In times when I was extremely angry, or happy, something inside of me – a manifestation of all the energy inside of me – crashed away from my body like an invisible wave, short circuiting every electrical device in my path. Things came to a head when my boyfriend and I were making out in his room when I was fifteen, and his lamp exploded like a bomb next to his bed, embedding a shard of glass into his neck. He lived, but he was terrified of me ever since – frankly, I was terrified of myself as well.

My little family, my mother and I, weren't the kind of people to investigate the paranormal, and we didn't exactly have the resources or connections to know what questions to ask and to whom. I practiced yoga and breathing techniques, I read every self-help book there was out there, I meditated twice a day, all in an attempt to quell whatever it was inside of me that caused these supernatural occurrences. But in secret, late at night, I would try to let it out in tiny bursts, just to see if I could control it… and as I got older, I got better at it. By the time I was seventeen years old and the identity of witches was revealed, all I had to do was cast a glance at a lamp to turn it on or off. And it was pretty sweet.

Of course, my mother and I took the first flight we could find to New Orleans when Cordelia – tenderly called the "Goode Witch of the South" by the media – aired an open invitation for young witches across the United States, on live TV, to contact her any way they could in Louisiana to find a place to stay at her academy. If I was scared of what waited for me there, my mother was terrified. But neither of us knew what to do, and this seemed to be the best option.

That brought me to waiting in the long white hallway inside of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, waiting for my turn to be brought before the Witch Council and have my abilities assessed. Everything about the mansion was classical, ornate and detailed, but modern and frankly a little cold. Walls, ceilings, carpets were all a bright eggshell white, radiating a kind of chill I didn't feel like I could get used to. Beautiful portraits and furniture decorated every room – my mother and I were sitting on some antique loveseat that looked as if it could have been two hundred years old. The ceilings were high and airy, the doors all closed and uninviting… perhaps I had made the wrong choice.

That was my exact thought as the butler emerged from the large double doors at the end of the hallway. My mother jumped a little at the sudden break in the silence. He strode towards us awkwardly, as though he had some kind of limp. I couldn't help but think he was attractive; tall, young, pale and muscular, dressed up in a well-fit black suit, his dark eyes peering from beneath a mop of blond hair. We were the only ones left waiting.

"The Council will see you now," he said in a friendly voice. I nodded and stood up, smoothing out the folds in my dress. I took one last look at my mother, whose eyes were as round as marbles, before I followed him towards the door.

I'd heard enough gossip from the other girls the past few weeks that I felt like I knew exactly what was coming, and when the butler held open the door for me and I entered a large, airy room, it was confirmed. It was all empty except for a large, dark desk at the far end. The windows were open, and a cool autumn breeze blew the gauzy white curtains around the room.

Sure enough, seated at the desk were the two Council members: the Black Widow and the Voodoo Girl, as the other girls had called them in hushed whispers. I had only seen them from far away, when the Goode Witch made her first greeting to the horde of young women waiting on the steps of the academy about two weeks ago, and now I noticed more than ever how very different they were – and how very young they were. The Black Widow sat on the left, all flawless ivory skin and big, glittering eyes, framed by long blonde hair that hung down over her black shirt. She was thin and frankly looked a little frail, as though a strong wind could push her over. The Voodoo Girl was big and round, with smooth, dark skin stretched over her round cheeks, her small eyes watching every step I made towards them. She wore a neon orange t-shirt, and didn't for the life of her look anything like a witch. They were both so beautiful, and so intimidating, that I found it a little difficult to breath.

The door closed behind me as I took a seat in the chair opposite of them, quite a distance away. The Black Widow was flipping through a folder and scribbling things down quickly with a blue pen, while the Voodoo Girl stared me down the entire time. I decided to fold my hands in my lap and just stare down at them till one of them addressed me. I scratched my palm, hard, just to make sure one last time that I wasn't dreaming.

"So," the thinner girl began after a pause that seemed to last forever, flipped closed the folder. She fixed her glittery eyes on me, and I felt a little more comfortable. "You're the last one we're assessing. For now, at least. You are Isabel Davenport, right?" she asked, glancing down at a folder in front of her.

I nodded silently, biting my lip. The Black Widow smiled a little, while the Voodoo Girl's gaze never faltered.

"I'm Zoe, by the way," she added. "And this is Queenie. We're the council, and all we want is –"

"Can we please just get the fuck on with it?" the Voodoo Girl, Queenie, interrupted. "All we've been doing for the past two weeks is interviewing these nervous little fucks, and I want to get it over with. So," she continued, crossing her arms and glaring me down, "what is it that makes you believe you're a witch?"

I was caught off guard. She was so brash and aggressive that I almost couldn't speak. But I finally managed to clear my throat a little. "When I was fourteen, I short circuited my house with my powers," I began, my words catching in my throat a little. "I mean, I can control electricity, I think."

Zoe, the Black Widow, opened her mouth, but Queenie once again interrupted. "What do you mean, you think?"

"I just don't really know what it means," I stammered. "I just thought –"

"Then prove it," Queenie demanded.

Zoe sighed. "Please, Queenie," she breathed quietly.

The two witches sat back and looked at me carefully. I swallowed cautiously, looking around for something to demonstrate my abilities on. Lining the walls were little ornate lights, designed to look like little lanterns, but I could feel the electricity breathing off of them. They were turned off at the moment, unnecessary with the afternoon light streaming in, but they still contained energy, flowing through them in the circuit. I closed my eyes slowly, feeling every wave of power hit me, until it was all absorbed within me. I clenched my fists, holding on to the feeling as long as I could; it was uncomfortable, but like an archer taking aim, I had to focus before I released or I could explode every electric device in the room. I exhaled slowly, focused my mind, and slowly let the wave go.

I heard Zoe and Queenie gasp a little, and opened my eyes. All the lights were on, flooding the room with a warmer, yellower light than the white sunlight drifting into the academy. I breathed a sigh of relief. I managed to do it without exploding anything – that was a bonus. I didn't even know if I had it in me to summon it on command under that kind of pressure.

"Wait a sec," Queenie began again, smiling a little. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and held it out to me. "Does that mean you can charge my phone?"

I stood up and walked over to her, more confident. She was much more approachable when she was happy. I held out my index finger and touched the phone lightly, allowing energy to flow through me into the phone easily. Within a second, the little Apple symbol lit up on the black screen, and Queenie laughed loudly.

"Bitch, that's awesome as hell!" she exclaimed, looking down at it.

"Well, it's pretty clear you belong here, Isabel," Zoe said with a small smile. "Welcome to Miss Robichaux's. Kyle," she added, looking over me at the butler, "do you mind bringing Mrs. Davenport in here?" The butler nodded and quickly left through the big doors. "This is probably a conversation you'll have with Cordelia, but this place isn't so much a school as it is kind of a group home… which means we'll be taking partial guardianship of you until your graduation. Cordelia'll be hiring tutors to come each week if you want to continue regular schooling."

I nodded, my heart lifted. For the first time in my life I felt like I was absolutely certain about something… I was a witch, and everything I had done had a reason. This was where I belonged.

The doors opened again, and the butler, Kyle, lead my mother in. She looked so small and tired next to him, practically shaking in her little sneakers as she made her way to us. In that moment I suddenly felt so much pity for her. All alone with me to deal with since I was just a baby, and now caught in the middle of New Orleans with a witch for a daughter. She pulled her jacket closer around her and took a seat in the chair next to me. Kyle took his place standing behind Zoe.

"So, Mrs. Davenport," she began, leaning forward, trying to look as kind as she could, "after our assessment, it's pretty clear to us that your daughter is, in fact, a witch. And as a young witch we think it's best for her if she were to be around her own kind."

My mother nodded, her lips pursed tightly. I thought about placing a hand on top of hers, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I did feel badly for her, but after three years of trying her best to ignore whatever it was inside of me, I just didn't really feel as close to her as I once did.

"As you know, Miss Robichaux's Academy is not just a school for young witches, but it's also a home for them," Zoe continued. "If you and Isabel both agree that she can stay here, we'd need to take partial guardianship. If you want her to continue her education as well, we –"

"Yes," my mother blurted out suddenly, cutting her off. Zoe looked surprised. I glanced over at my mother, also confused. "Yes, please. You can take her. For as long as it takes."

I felt my heart sink. That was when I realized… she wasn't afraid of the strange city, or the coven, or the scary, uncertain future of mothering a child who could control magic. She was afraid of me.

"Well, depending on how long it takes for Isabel to learn to control her powers, it could take several years," Zoe said slowly. "And then it's her own choice whether to stay with the coven or leave on her own. Of course you can visit whenever you want, too," she added hopefully.

My mother shook her head slightly. "I'll sign whatever you need. You can take Isabel," she said pointedly, her head bowed, eyes focused on her hands clasped tightly over her purse. I couldn't take my eyes off her. The mother that I knew and loved so much, who had given up almost everything for me when my father left her… was about to hand me off to complete strangers for as long as they wanted, no questions asked.

"Sign these," Queenie said, sliding a small folder of forms with a pen over to my mother. She uncapped the pen, opened the folder and immediately began scribbling away. My heart began to pound in my chest. I was angry. And being angry meant bad things could happen. I had to leave as fast as possible.

I stood up, pushing the chair back. Both witches looked up at me, as well as my own mother and the butler. "Do you mind if I see around the academy?" I asked, keeping my face and voice as composed as I could. The two Councillors looked at me suspiciously, then nodded a little. Instinctively Kyle moved around the table and gestured to the door. I forced myself to turn around and follow him to the doors, quelling the urge to turn and scream. I wish I could say it was hard. But all those years of suppression would not go to waste… not now.

The butler held the door open for me, and I kept walking. I didn't stop even when I heard the door again, or when I heard his quick footsteps following me. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care. I had to leave before I hurt someone, or something. At the end of the hallway was another hall running horizontally, making a T shape. I turned left, toward the exit.

"Miss?" the butler said politely from behind me. I stopped and turned, my boots making a loud squeak on the hard marble floor. He was gesturing to the other direction. "Your room will be in the South Ward," he said, calmly. Something about him made me feel more comfortable. He seemed to understand how I felt, without saying another word or making another movement. He was controlled and collected, but solemn. I turned to follow him.

That was when we heard a loud scream, coming from the end of the hallway I was headed to. Kyle's head shot up, looking past me, and in a second he had started running towards the noise. With nowhere else to go, I followed him, keeping a few meters between us.

The passage lead to the large entry hall. Two giant, winding staircases lead up onto the balcony we stood on, overlooking the entry to the house. We arrived just in time to see a boy, probably my age, stagger backward from the room below in shock. From above all I could see was a mess of short blond hair and rectangular glasses balancing carefully on his nose. As he stumbled back a girl, also an older teenager, angrily stormed toward him, her black hair thick and wild.

"I didn't come here to be treated like shit, alright?!" the girl shouted. Just from her voice I could tell she was in tears.

"I was just telling you what I saw!" the boy yelped in a higher voice than I'd expected, backing up into the centre of the room. As she pursued him, more girls of all different ages and kinds flooded from the room, watching with curiosity.

The girl let out an animalistic shout of anguish and raised her hand toward him, fingers flexed apart. That moment a spout of flame erupted from the boy's shoulder, lighting his woolen sweater on fire.

He screamed, a perfect imitation of the yell we'd heard just a minute before. Kyle shouted something unintelligible and sprinted down one of the staircases as the boy fell onto the ground, rolling around in pain and panic as the fire spread down his arm and onto his chest. The girl collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, obviously overwhelmed beyond reason. The mob of young witches were screaming and shouting for help, unsure of what to do. I didn't know what there was for me to do either, and I was too shocked to move.

I turned, hearing loud footsteps behind me. Zoe and Queenie were running towards me, obviously having heard the scream as well. My mother was nowhere to be seen. Turning back to the scene, Kyle had reached the boy and had taken his jacket off, trying to stop the fire by laying it over top of him. The boy was still letting blood-curdling screeches out while the young witch who'd set him ablaze was shouting apologies over and over, sobbing wildly. Zoe and Queenie followed Kyle down the staircase towards the scuffle, and I followed after them without consciously deciding to.

The three of us stood away from the boy, sprawled out on the floor in pain, and Kyle desperately trying to help him. "What do we do?!" Zoe shouted at Queenie, rocking back and forth.

"How the hell should I know?!" the Voodoo Girl replied, panic in her voice as well.

I had never seen someone die before; I'd never even seen someone on fire before. But in that moment I realized I was witnessing both. The fire was spreading all over, coating his face as he released tortured wails that matched the sound of the crackling fire. The girl was still sprawled in a heap before the entryway to the room below the staircases, crying uncontrollably. The heat was stronger than I would've imagined.

"Move out of the way!" a voice suddenly shouted, cutting through the large hall clearly. "Move out of the way!" The mob of girls parted as quickly as they could, revealing a woman, probably mid-thirties, with pale skin, straight blonde hair and beautiful brown eyes, the tail of her dark blue dress flickering behind her. She moved quickly, the light clacking of her heels ringing just as loudly, even above the screaming and crying; it was Cordelia Goode, the "Supreme" of the coven.

The second I lay eyes on her, the strangest sensation came over me. It was like I had suddenly fixed my eye on one blade in a quickly moving fan; everything moved as quickly as before, but it suddenly seemed clearer, much more concise and manageable. A calm settled over the room; the mob of girls silenced, the crying girl looked up, and even the boy's wailing seemed to diminish a little. I could feel almost a power vibrating from her, like I could with electricity… only it was something much stronger. This energy that I couldn't process rocked over me wave by wave, filling me with confidence and contentment. This had to be the leader of the coven, the one all-powerful witch that led all others.

The Supreme took a deep breath, faced the flames spreading over the boy's body, and extended a single hand, palm outward towards the source. In an instant, as though a giant gust of wind had blown through, the fire was extinguished, leaving one of the most disturbing scenes I'd ever seen. The boy's voice was hoarse and quiet, but quiet wails leaking from his hole of a mouth. His face was black and charred, his clothes just black dust all over him. Although it seemed like it had taken an eternity, the entire scene had begun and ended in just a minute or so.

"Zoe, Queenie, take this young woman back to her room," the Supreme said as calmly as she could; however, even I could see she was shaken to the core. "Kyle, please escort these ladies back to the Common Room. I will deal with this young man."

Kyle, shaking and sweating in fear, rose to his feet, lifting his charred jacket. "If you'd all follow me, ladies," he said in a wavering voice. The girls, all shocked slowly began to follow him back through the hallway. I made to follow, but I found that my feet wouldn't move. All I could look at what the poor boy on the ground, his skin red, black and flaking off. He was going to die.

"Miss?" I heard Kyle's voice say. I looked up. Zoe and Queenie were lifting the girl to her feet, and the powerful witch was looking at me in confusion. But instead of following I looked up to the balcony overlooking the main hall where my mother wasn't standing. She must have heard the scream if the Council did; I could have been in danger. She should have wanted to protect me, but she didn't, and she probably never would again.


	3. Regulations & Revelations

**Zoe**

* * *

I watched from the stage as the girls filtered into the large, underground auditorium. I'd heard of the secret classrooms built deep beneath the foundations of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, but I could never have believed that something this large would fit beneath the earth in the middle of New Orleans.

The room was tall and cylindrical, the rows of seats set into steep ledges that all directed down to the where I stood. A large, theatrical balcony was fixed on the circular wall directly above the single entrance into the auditorium, facing this elegant, dramatic stage at the bottom. Like all of the architecture in Miss Robichaux's, it had a slight Baroque feel to it, very detailed and curvy and, of course, starch white. Big brass fire braziers were embedded into the walls, all unlit. The high ceiling had a detailed mural on it; some gruesome depictions of a witch burning. My eyes couldn't help but be drawn up every once in a while to examine the incredible detail. I could almost feel the unbearable pain etched onto the woman's face in the painting, writhing and contorting in pain as the flames licked up her white dress. Men in dark suits and wide-brimmed hats watched solemnly, torches in their hands. It reminded me of the two rare times I had been subject to a witch burning… first hand, I had felt the magic ooze away, then suddenly dissipate in what felt like a light cloud. I had only noticed that heavy pressure that came along with being in the presence of a powerful witch until it was gone.

I shook my head and shuddered. It wasn't exactly my favourite memory. Instead, I tried to watch the faces on these girls as they entered the auditorium, weaving their ways into aisles cautiously, picking their spots very carefully. Kyle stood at the top, holding the large door open, his face serene and content beneath his mop of blond hair, white skin shining around his black suit. He really was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. As if he'd heard my thoughts, he turned and caught my eye, smiling brightly. I beamed back, pulling a strand of hair away from my face.

I noticed the dark haired girl enter the room, her walk slow and light, turning her head every which way as though she was expecting to be attacked at any moment. I struggled to remember her name. Not a few days ago, I'd been the one to console her after she'd lit a fellow student on fire.

The girl was still crying half an hour after we'd returned her to her bedroom. I'd held her by her waist, pressed up against me, while she was curled into a tight ball, knees to her forehead. I did understand where she was coming from… but frankly, after all the shit I'd seen in the past year I just didn't have the energy for anything else.

A normal seventeen year old girl shouldn't have to comfort a young pyrokinetic girl after watching her set a fellow student on fire. A normal seventeen year old girl shouldn't have to see a lot of the things I've seen. But before I could reminisce, I pulled myself away. If I looked back I would be lost in all the things I did wrong, and all the wrongs that had been done to me.

I remembered the curious look on her face that she'd given me after I'd told her about her gift. "Pyrokinesis, the manipulation and generation of fire, is a really rare power," I had said. "It's one of the Seven Wonders, a collection of spells that can only all be performed by the Supreme." Once she was calm enough to be left on her own, she'd fled to the bathroom, probably embarrassed. But before she'd closed the door she'd turned back to me.

"Um… thank you…" she had said, leaving the sentence open. I had waited, wondering what she was going to say, until I realized she had forgotten my name.

"Zoe," I had supplied with a smile. "Call me Zoe. And you are?"

I watched as the girl sat down in one of the rows further away from the stage, alone.

"Anna," I remembered her saying. "It's Anna."

I felt bad for the poor girl. I thought back to when I'd first discovered my own power… all the confusion, all of the sudden changes and decisions made for me. Within a day I was in New Orleans, in this house, all alone with no knowledge of what I was. She hadn't meant to set the boy on fire, obviously. But we were in a house of teenagers with extraordinary, and sometimes dangerous, powers, and chaos was a little inevitable.

I tried to shake it off, watching the other girls walk in. There was Marie, the youngest girl in the academy at just seven years old, with her incredible ability to determine the past. Next to her sat June, a fifteen year old with no specific talent, but possibly the biggest mouth in the world. Her interview was more her talking than us; presumably, it'd ended with Queenie threatening to shove her foot in her mouth. And next to June was the only boy in our school, Lars.

He'd been one of the few interviews that Cordelia herself had conducted. Odd applicants, like Marie and Lars, were taken over by her. He'd entered just as easily as any other girl had, to my extreme shock. I'd heard of warlocks, or whatever it was that male witches were called, but they were extremely rare apparently. One night at dinner I'd asked Cordelia about him.

She's played with her wine glass for a moment, looking a little hesitant, before she answered. "Legally, Lars is still a female," she had explained. "Which explains why his powers are so strong. Technically our academy is for girls exclusively, but… where else can we expect him to go?"

In addition, Lars and his family apparently weren't on the best of terms beforehand anyway. Miss Robichaux's would be ten times safer than anywhere else on Earth. He was attractive, with short blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses. It wouldn't be long till girls were all over him.

I looked over as the last few girls trickled in and found their spots. Cordelia stood in front of me, forming the front most point of a triangle with me and Queenie. She wore a plain white blouse, sleeves rolled up, with black pants. Very simple, but somehow on her they looked radiant. Her blonde hair was pulled into a smart ponytail at the back of her head. Self-consciously, I looked down at what I was wearing… a black dress and high tops. I knew Cordelia didn't want all of her girls wearing all black, like our previous Supreme – and Cordelia's maniacal mother, Fiona – had wanted of us, but I didn't exactly have much variation. Queenie did better, wearing a bright blue shirt under a leather jacket. Queenie looked stoic as always, feet planted confidently, staring down any girl who was daring enough to meet her gaze. If only I had their confidence.

Once all the students had taken their seats, Kyle closed the door quietly. There was a quiet buzz of conversation travelling through the auditorium; it was much better than the cold silence that had echoed around the mansion the first day they had arrived. Making new friends was good. Now, three days after they'd all settled in, we found ourselves here to lay down the ground rules.

Cordelia stepped forward and cleared her throat quietly. However, everyone fell absolutely silent when she did; whether it was magic or sheer respect, I couldn't tell, but it was effective. The Supreme smiled lightly and clasped her hands together.

"Girls, first and foremost, welcome to Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exception Young Ladies," she began, her voice echoing around the room. "For those of you who I haven't had the opportunity to meet yet, I apologize, but we've been running a little bit behind. Interviews took much longer than we'd hoped, but I'm glad to see you've all settled in.

"My name is Cordelia Goode, and I am the leader of our coven," she continued, walking lightly from side to side of the stage, trying to make as much eye contact as possible. "Or, as we call it, the Supreme. Being the Supreme means it is not only my job to protect all of you, but also to teach you about your abilities, and train you to hone them."

Cordelia stopped in the center of the stage again, closed her eyes, and raised both of her hands, palms up. In one loud whooshing noise, cheerful, pleasant fires leapt up in the braziers. A few girls screaming, but most just gasped, looking around at the magically generated flames. Then they began to clap. Cordelia smiled warmly.

"With enough training," she began again once the clapping died down, and commenced her wandering, "you too can be capable of feats such as that. However, until you have the control that more experienced witches have, regulations have to be put in place."

I looked over at Anna. She dropped her head, her dark hair covering her face.

"I am going to have to ask you to refrain from using your powers without supervision," she said. "This may be difficult for many of you; I understand, as well as any of you, that powers can emerge at the most inconvenient of times. Perhaps that's why many of you are with us now. However, conscious practice of these abilities can sometimes cause even more dangerous results. Until the time that we have deemed you have adequate control, I trust that you all will respect my decision.

"In addition, since the news of our existence is still fresh to the mortals that lie outside our doors, I'm also going to ask that nobody leaves the academy without my express permission and the supervision of one of us. Which also reminds me that I don't think we've formally introduced our Witch Council and our staff."

Cordelia smiled and raised a hand at the top of the stairs. "Near the door we have our butler, Mr. Kyle Spencer," she introduced. Kyle stood and waved a hand, a cheerful smile on his face. All the girls turned around to look at him. Silly as it was, I felt a little pang of jealousy. There were two men in a house of over forty women: Lars and Kyle. Not exactly the worst options to choose from, either.

"We will be creating a schedule for cleaning, cooking, and other housework," Cordelia piped up. "As capable as he is, Kyle will need assistance in taking care of our academy, and we expect every one of you to lend a hand to him. Next, we have our three faithful guards, who recently agreed to stay with us for our own protection. They prefer to go by the titles Azrael, Camael, and Enoch."

I frowned. Cordelia hadn't told us we would be receiving any protection. She gestured to the wing of the stage where, to my absolute surprise, three men stood. All three were extremely tall and muscular, dressed in plain black suits and black-out aviator sunglasses. They almost seemed comical, the way they embodied the stereotypical men in black bodyguard-types. One had dark skin and short, curly hair; another had a buzz cut and tanned skin. The one in front, who seemed to be their leader, I had seen before: he was albino, with almost translucent skin and white, curly hair. He had been the personal guard for Myrtle Snow, one of the old, and now-deceased, Council members. I'd seen them every once in a while, escorting the old witch around and assisting in the witch burnings I'd seen – ironic, since both burnings had been for Myrtle herself. My best guess for their presence was that, after Myrtle's second and final death, they simply had nowhere else to go. The one in front, who I thought was probably Enoch, nodded slightly at the audience of students.

"Lastly, we have our Witch Council, who assist me in regular decision-making and will, for all intents and purposes, be your "vice-principals" for this academy," Cordelia said finally. I tore my eyes away from these bodyguards and looked into the audience, trying my best to smile. I probably looked like I was flinching. "To my right I have Queenie James, and to my left is Zoe Benson. Please treat them the way you would treat a teacher or guardian, as you'll probably be spending a lot of time with them.

"As I hope both Queenie and Zoe mentioned during your assessments, or I mentioned if I personally interviewed you myself, we will be hiring tutors to teach regular schooling every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Unless you are sixteen years or older, these classes are unfortunately necessary. Students twelve and under will have their classes in the smaller auditorium, while students thirteen and above will have their classes conducted in this room. Tuesday and Thursday will be our own personal lessons, in which we will cover the history of our coven and witches, as well as begin first-hand experience in controlling our abilities. Queenie and Zoe will be in charge of teaching the younger students, while I will be conducting the older classes. These lessons are absolutely mandatory if you wish to live at our academy."

A knot of fear formed in my stomach. I was bad enough at just standing in front of people, much less teaching them. But Cordelia didn't have anyone else; there were so few witch contacts we had outside of our coven, and with only three of us left besides the students, there was nobody else to teach. So we had to step up to the plate and try our best, I guess.

"Our last regulation," she continued, raising a finger and stopping, "and the most important rule to follow: this coven absolutely prohibits violence. No intention act of harm against another witch or mortal, with or without use of magic, will go unpunished. In addition, this coven is nothing unless we stand on our traditions… and though this may be an archaic practice, the ultimate punishment for the capital crime of taking another witch's life… is death by fire."

The room was absolutely silent. I could almost hear the absence of noise ring around the auditorium like an echo. Nobody moved.

"This is a practice we have absolutely used before. Believe me when I say it is not something I enjoy doing, and I do hope that I never have to witness another witch burning again in my life, but in order to purify the soul after such a terrible sin, it is absolutely necessary."

I could almost see my memory before my eyes. Myrtle Snow, dressed in a long red gown, hands tied around an ancient pole in the middle of the desert. I could hear her screams as the fire caught her wispy orange hair. I could see the tears that had rolled down Cordelia's cheeks as she watched the only true mother figure she'd ever known go up in flames.

"That being said, we all make mistakes," Cordelia continued. I looked over. She, too, had a stain of shaken memories over her face. She tried to smile. "We are a family. We are a coven. Our job is to protect each other and provide a safe environment."

Queenie looked over at me. Her dark eyes bored into mine, and we smiled at each other, a little sadly. When we had met, there were four of us. And now there were two.

"On that solemn note, those are all of the ground rules that we have," the Supreme said with a real smile. "Be kind to each other… for some of us, we are the only family that we have."

I looked into the audience. Every girl there looked nervous, but excited, and also a little terrified. I remembered the moment I'd first stepped into the academy… I had the same fear, the same anxiety. That being said, I was bound and threatened with a knife as some kind of hazing ritual, but now I was here, and I was at home. Soon they would feel the same.

**Cordelia**

* * *

"_You're such an awesome leader, Miss Cordelia. I have so much to learn from you."_

The words rang in my head, over and over. It seemed every time I let myself stand still and permitted my mind to wander I could hear her voice. Every night I lay down to sleep I could see her, spinning around and laughing, her shawl trailing behind her. I did everything I possibly could to forget about her; I tried as many draughts and potions I could, I drank more than I ever would have, I worked until my feet bled and my eyes burned. But I couldn't run right now. I was too exhausted.

And so I heard her laugh in my mind. And I felt her body, cold and lifeless as I let her fall away from me.

"Cordelia?"

I jolted, and my eyes opened in shock. Lying on my bed, facedown, fully dressed, I must have looked a little strange. But I wasn't concerned about my appearance; I was most concerned that I hadn't sensed someone there sooner. My ability, the Sight, had been getting worse and worse by the day. Most likely because of stress.

I sat up slowly and turned around, feeling the air around me before I set eyes on the person who'd said my name. As I opened my eyelids, my prediction was correct: it was Queenie. She looked tough as always, standing steadily on both feet, her eyes fixed on me. She was concerned; I could feel that much.

"Yes, Queenie?" I asked, moving myself to the side of the bed and hanging my legs over.

Queenie bit her lip, then stepped forward a little. "We had dinner about an hour ago," she said, a little nervously. "We were going to call you, but we didn't want to bug you. Anyway, there's still a lot left in the fridge, and I can bring it up if you want."

I bowed and shook my head, feeling my hair lightly brush against my face. The most simply sensation in the world, but somehow one of the most calming. "I'm alright. Thank you, though."

I still felt Queenie standing there, even though I'd closed my eyes now. She wanted to say something more.

"Cordelia, are you okay?"

I stopped shaking my head.

Was I alright?

No, was my immediately answer in my head. No, I am the furthest from alright that I have ever been. In the span of just a few months, everything in my life had flipped upside down. I'd discovered my husband was not only cheating on me, but also a fucking witch hunter, around the exact same time we were trying to conceive, just before he was killed by Queenie herself. Then, on top of being blinded and getting my vision back a total of two fucking times (both times hurting like all hell), my biological mother died, followed by my real mother. Myrtle. I didn't want to kill her. I never would have in a million years. But she'd insisted. And I'd lost one of my students, one of the few people I'd ever felt truly at home with. All my fault, every last death.

And now I had over forty children, all under my control, all looking up to me. It was my job to protect them, and what's more, educate them about who they were and what powers they held. It was all my job to revive the existence of witches in the United States.

I sighed, opening my eyes. "I guess I'm just stressed, Queenie," is what I said instead, looking up at her with my best attempt at a smile.

Queenie stepped forward again and sat down next to me. The bed sunk under her weight slightly.

"Look," she began, then took a moment to line up her thoughts. "This isn't all on you, you know that? Me and Zoe are here to help you. We can take care of things too, you know. You don't have to do everything all by yourself."

I nodded, then smiled a little. I looked over at her again. "Not six months ago you were living in a foster home in Detroit, Queenie," I said. It never failed to amaze me how far all the girls had come. "And now look at you. You've come so far."

Queenie smiled back. "I couldn't have done it alone. And now you won't have to either." She stood up. "Food's in the fridge when you want it," she added before leaving the room. "Zoe makes some good fucking lasagna."

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her. I felt her walk down the hallway, and then I let her presence go. I fell back onto my bed and tried to close my eyes to sleep, but I knew it would never come. It never did. All I could do was sacrifice myself to all of my regrets and terrible memories.

"_You're such an awesome leader, Miss Cordelia. I have so much to learn from you."_

I smiled, my eyes closed.

"We make a great team," I whispered into the air, all alone.


	4. Burn the Witch

**Queenie**

* * *

"Alright, fuckers. Today we're going to be talking about the Seven Wonders, and what it takes to be the Supreme."

Zoe sighed quietly. "Queenie, please," she hissed through her teeth. "They're, like, ten."

"Cordelia didn't ask me to do this shit," I answered loudly, making sure every girl in the auditorium could hear me. "If she doesn't like the way I teach, then she can take it up with me." I turned back to the class of fifteen or so kids. "But y'all are witches now. Childhood is over, bitches."

The younger students had their classes in the smaller auditorium. It had seats for about fifty people, but only the first two rows or so were being used. It was mine and Zoe's first class with them, and it was my job to put them in place. I knew they were just kids, and I knew they'd all probably hate me for being such a cunt to them, but they needed to know that they were not in charge here. If they thought for a second they could get away with fuck-all around here with no consequences, like our old resident cunthole classmate Madison had, we'd have even more deaths on our hands. A group of forty kids with only three supervisors in a house was bad enough; forty kids with magic fucking powers would be chaotic.

And Zoe and Cordelia could be the ones to coddle them. I sure as hell wouldn't be rocking them to sleep at night.

"If you don't remember our names, I'm Zoe and this is Queenie," Zoe piped up, stepping forward. She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. She was nervous up here and it read all over her face. Thank god I was here too or they'd eat her alive. She was a twig, all big, shiny eyes and pale skin wrapped up in flannels that were too big and combat boots. The kind of grungy girls the boys in my school would go for. A year ago I would have kicked the shit out of her. But now she was my sister, and I loved her. I didn't exactly have a choice.

"Better fucking remember them," I added quietly, but still loud enough for all of them to hear me.

I looked at the girls' faces. There was such a variety; girls of all shapes and sizes, colours and races. It made my heart lift a little bit. For months I was the only black witch in this coven, and it seemed not a day would go by when I could forget it. The only little white blonde girl I saw in the class was the littlest of all at only six years old, sitting right in the front row, totally focused, her face dominated by big brown eyes and soft pink lips. I'm sure all the others would fawn over her, but just looking at her made me irritated.

"So being a witch and living at Miss Robichaux's means you are a part of our coven," Zoe began. I saw her wiggling the toe of her boot into the ground, like she did whenever she was nervous. "A coven is any group of witches, not only by title, but by spirit. Our powers are stronger when we're together; the more time we stay together, the more we're bonded."

"Each coven is led by one Supreme," I continued, louder and stronger. Good cop, bad cop. "This is also not just a title. A person doesn't choose to be the Supreme; it's inherited and forced upon you. The Supreme is the single most powerful witch in the coven; on top of having complete control over all witches, the Supreme also has seven incredibly powerful abilities. Now don't get cocky if you happen to have one of these powers," I added quickly when I saw Zoe open her mouth to speak. "Any witch can control one or two of these abilities. Some can even control up to six. But when put all together, they're a set that identifies who this leader will be."

Suddenly, a girl raised her hand. She looked pretty old, probably eleven or twelve, with a pinched face and an otherwise pretty normal appearance. She kinda looked like a huge cunt because of that eager look.

"What if someone does perform all seven?"

I frowned, even more irritated that she spoke without either of us telling her she could. "You can't," I answered as flatly as possible, turning to continue my lecture.

"But what if you do?" she asked, just as I'd opened my mouth to talk.

I closed my mouth and glared her down. She looked back, innocent and curious. "Then you'd be the Supreme," I answered, trying my best to keep my cool.

"But what if somebody tries to do all seven while there's another Supreme?" she shot back quickly.

"Then you'd probably die," I snapped. Many girls around her flinched, but she just looked straight on at me. "Anyway, I –"

"That seems kind of unrealistic to me," I heard her say. I'd turned away, preparing to continue once again, but her voice cut through the air like a fucking knife. I didn't know if she was talking to me or one of her friends, but it pissed me the fuck off. I really didn't have tolerance for know-it-alls or pretentious cunts; I'd faced enough of them in my lifetime. And I'd promised a long time ago I wouldn't put up with any more.

"Does this seem a little unrealistic to you as well?!" I shouted at her, digging the nails of my right hand into the left forearm. Without even looking, I knew my nails had pierced my skin, but no blood was flowing from the marks, and I felt no pain. Instead, I watched the little bitch's face as the pain I was causing myself echoed onto her.

Her eyes grew, wide as two fucking moons, as she left in a huge, dramatic gasp. Then she started screaming, waving her left arm around. The girls around her started screaming as well, leaning away from her as big red droplets of blood sprayed around. Satisfied, I let go of my arm, and the little bitch immediately staunched her screams by pressing her mouth up against the wound, tears in her eyes, sucking at the scratched skin.

"Queenie, that's enough!" Zoe shouted once she fully comprehended what had happened. "I'm going to tell Cordelia if you don't stop terrorizing them!"

"Go ahead, see if I care," I scoffed, turning away. After the girl and the other students calmed down and Zoe asked if she was alright – to which she gave a hasty, quiet "yes" – she took over the class.

"There is only one Supreme at a time," Zoe cut in, looking at me warily. "However, near the end of one's Supremacy, the power weans from the leader into all the other witches. Usually it's easy to tell who will be the next Supreme; the trademarks include incredible increase of powers and glowing health. The Supremacy is fully transferred to another witch when the previous Supreme dies."

"There are, however, ways to speed up the transference of Supremacy," I added, shooting Zoe a look.

Her eyes widened in warning. "Queenie, no," she said quietly.

"One way," I continued, glaring down at the students, "is to murder the current Supreme. This usually isn't a highly recommended method. The second is through a process called the Sacred Taking."

"Queenie," Zoe said again, warning me.

"It only happens when the current Supreme selflessly commits suicide," I said with a finality. All the faces of the little kids dropped. "When they kill themselves," I clarified. "Then the coven performs a Sacred Taking. That means all members go through a process in which they attempt to complete the Seven Wonders. This often results in severe dismemberment or death from many or even most of the witches who're participating."

"Queenie, that's enough," Zoe said loudly. It echoed around the room, so loudly that Zoe turned red with embarrassment. The kids all looked horrified… but they deserved to know. In my head I still saw Zoe, limp with death, impaled on the steel gate of the academy. I still saw Misty Day crumble to dust in Cordelia's arms, trapped in hell forever. We could never let that happen again or our entire coven would surely fall to pieces again.

I cleared my throat and cracked my knuckles. "The first of the Seven Wonders is Pyrokinesis," I said loudly, trying to gain control again. I flung my arm out to the side in a straight line, thumb tucked into my palm, fingers straight out to the wall where a metal torch was fixed into the wall. The torch suddenly burst into flames, and several of the girls screamed. I kept my face straight as they did; I was hoping to impress them, not terrify them. But it did the trick. Maybe it would have been a little more impressive if Cordelia hadn't done it just a few days ago in a much more elegant way. But that just wasn't my style.

"Queenie, please stop trying to scare them off," Zoe said in my ear. I sighed loudly.

"You do the next one, then," I told her, trying to keep up my toughness. This class wasn't exactly going the way I'd planned.

She walked slightly to the side and tucked her hair behind her ears. "The second is Telekinesis," she said, picking up where I'd left off. With a graceful, slow lift of her arm, she looked over to the torch. It shuddered and twisted, trying to escape its metal binding. Zoe frowned as the girls started looking at her, confused. Her face turned red as she slowly curled her hand into a fist. Then, with a loud, metallic clang, the binding exploded off the wall. Everyone screamed; even I flinched. Zoe stumbled back as the torch collided with her hand.

"Fuck!" she shouted, dropping it to the ground. The fire had extinguished, thank god, and now only a pathetic metal torch lay beside her on the stage. As the girls calmed down, they all looked down at us, confused and a little frightened. Zoe and I exchanged a look. We'd fucked up.

The door at the top of the auditorium swung open. Every eye in the room looked up to see Cordelia standing in the doorway, looking down. She looked white-faced and terrified, clear from even this far away. I immediately felt extremely embarrassed, and looked down the torch. Then I got a little angry. What the fuck did she expect from two girls who'd never spoken in front of a group, not to mention teach a fucking class full of witches?

But Cordelia wasn't looking at the torch. She seemed distracted. "Excuse me for interrupting, but can I borrow you two for a second?" she asked. Then she disappeared from the doorway, and we heard her heels clack down the stone hallway. Zoe looked at me again, confused.

"Please give us just a minute," she said to the students after an awkward pause. "Stay here, and please don't try anything… witchy."

Then she started hurrying up the stairs. I followed her as fast as I could; we knew something was wrong. It took a lot to make Cordelia panic these days; the last time I'd seen it we were staring down at the body of Misty, waiting for her to resurface from Hell.

We closed the door to the auditorium behind us; who knew what was waiting for us above. We almost ran down the long stone hallway towards the spiral staircase at the end that would bring us to the basement.

We chased her up to the entrance with the double stairways just to see her flee up to the second floor. I looked over and saw two of the security guards, the non-albino ones, standing in front of the large doors. One was facing the hall, probably watching up, as the other was looking out the window next to the door.

We hurried up to the landing on the second floor. Cordelia was on the other side with the albino guard, peering out one of the tall windows that overlooking the front lawn with a hand to her mouth. My heart felt like it was dropping. What the fuck would be waiting for us now? Zoe got there first and peered out, then frowned in shock. I followed her and took a lot for myself.

Beyond the iron gates that protected the Academy, a large group of people had gathered on the street. It took me a minute to register that they were all facing the Academy, facing us. There were maybe fifty people there, all on the sidewalk and leaking out onto the street, all dressed in stark white – men, women, even a few kids. Some held signs; one held a giant wooden cross above the mob.

The signs puzzled me. A couple just had what I guessed were Bible passages on them – they were too small to read from this far away. But I definitely spotted the word "witchcraft" on a few of them, and the biggest one simply stated: "burn the witches".

Not one, but two news vans had pulled up on the opposite side of the street; one already had a news reporter set up in front of a big camera, holding a microphone as he gesturing at the house. The other was frantically setting up; I spotted a woman hastily applying lipstick as the cameraman wiggled his camera onto a tripod.

My first reaction was to laugh, but I stifled it – it looked almost comical. Never in my life had I seen a mob, and now here one was, set up right in front of my own fucking house. I'd seen news stories about the Westboro Baptist Church and other fuckhead groups protesting stupid stuff, and I'd always thought it was hilarious – but here one of them was, protesting us, the witches.

Then it sank in, and I was actually a little surprised that it hadn't happened earlier.

"What the fuck is this?" was all I managed to say.

I looked over at Cordelia, whose eyes were somewhat watery. "I'm so foolish," she said quietly, seemingly to herself. "I've been so busy setting up the academy that I haven't had time to pay attention to the news. I should have seen this coming."

We all stood silently together for a while, watching the protest happen. Exactly what did they want, anyway? Did they want us out of the academy, or did they want us dead…? What the point of protesting a group of people who had no choice over what they were? We couldn't exactly change ourselves.

Finally, Cordelia let out a puff of air. "Alright. We'll have to have a meeting with all the girls… we're going to need to increase security measures, and make stronger rules. Nobody leaves the house without talking to me first, alright?" She looked between me and Zoe, and I could see authentic fear on her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. "We have to protect our students."

Suddenly, a loud scream – deafened through the thick glass windows – returned our attention to the mob. Several members of the crowd were dashing away from the centered as a fire was lit right in the middle. I watched in horror as the giant cross was lit on fire… and strapped to it was a little girl.

Another scream, from inside the academy, echoed around the hall. I realized a couple seconds later that it was mine. Cordelia, Zoe and the guard were all paralyzed, watching it happen. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?!

The girl must have been covered in gasoline or oil, as she caught fire immediately. The crowd screamed at the academy as the cross burned above their heads, like monsters.

I couldn't stand there a second more. I pushed myself away from the window and tore down the staircase, nearly tripping over my own feet, skipping several steps at a time. I sprinted from the stairs to the front door, hearing the shouts behind me. I didn't care. Those monsters were doing something far worse than anything I could do to them.

I tore the front door open, shouting at the top of my lungs, lurching through the yard. The crowd all noticed me, one by one, diverting their shouts at me as I sprinted to the gates. I held my hands out in front of me, arms outstretched and fists clenched, then forced them apart, opening the big iron gates telekinetically. The crowd all screamed at the screeching of the gates, some running away.

I slowed myself down as I stood between the gates, then raised another fist. The other hand I held against it, palm open and fingers tight together, like some fucking ninja position. I hardly realized what I was doing, but I knew what I wanted as I forced them apart. The crowd, in one mass shout, was pulled apart, left from right; the bodies flew through the air, finally landing on the pavement a short ways off, tumbling upon each other. The only one left standing was the man holding the cross.

"Burn the witch!" he shouted viciously, like a snarling dog. I looked up at the burning cross; the girl was hardly recognizable now. I let out a roar like a lion or a bull and forced both hands forward into the air; the man was pushed backward, as if by a strong gale of wind, though the cross remained in the air, levitating. The man skidded across the road, nearly colliding with one of the newscasters' tripods.

I approached the cross, tears streaming from my eyes, and gripped it tight, pulling it from its magical suspension. I lay it down gently on the street, knowing full well that all eyes and both cameras were aimed at me, and waved my hands over the girl's charred corpse.

The fire flickered, following my hands like magnets. It took a few waves, but finally they extinguished, pulled off the cross with magic. I looked down at the little girl, tears falling down my face in waves, and raised a hand to wipe them away.

When the tears were gone I looked at her face. It was charred, but melted, falling away in drops that were already hardening. It was plastic.

The girl on the cross had been a doll.

For a minute or so I didn't move, and just looked down. Horror crashed over me like a tsunami as I got to my feet, looking around. Much of the mob was still on the ground, reeling from the impact of the street. Some were screaming, crawling away; one was holding their leg, cradled so that their face was hidden from me. The newscasters had a look of absolute shock on their faces, and said nothing as the cameras were trained on me. The man who was holding the cross was the first to speak.

"Witch!" he screamed, tears of rage burned down his cheeks. "She tried to kill us!"

I couldn't move. The mob was all shouted now, some getting to their feet, others still crying on the ground, nursing injuries. What had I done?

I tried to open my mouth to explain. I didn't realize it was a doll; I thought it was a child. But why would they be burning a child? What had I done? Why hadn't I thought it through?

I stood there, frozen, as the mob encroached, screeching and shouting at me. Witch, witch, witch.


	5. Interview

**Isabel**

* * *

It was a few days since the event with the protestors, and it seemed like all forty-something of the students at Miss Robichaux's were packed into the sitting room. The big, flat-screen TV that hung on the eggshell-white wall, looking strangely out of place with the otherwise classical design style, was turned onto the top news station in the country. I couldn't hear a word of the commercials due to the chattering; many of the younger ones had sprawled out on the rug just in front of the TV. I'd found a comfortable spot on the big sofa, between Lars and June.

The first week here had been a little hectic and kind of terrifying. I'd try to keep to myself, but everywhere I went there was somebody, and the girl next to me, June, didn't seem to want to leave me alone. There was scarcely a moment when she wasn't talking, and although it got a little annoying at times, I appreciated the noise. It took my mind off things. She was bunked in the same room as me too, right on the next bed.

I watched her chatter away beside me. She was cute, with a plump face, tight brown curls and round brown eyes; she always seemed to be wearing something knit. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what powers she had, though it was entirely possible there was nothing special about her. She didn't talk about herself like that very often.

Lars, on the other side of me, had a terrible habit of saying the exact, utter truth, whenever it passed his mind. He stated it very matter-of-factly, no matter who it was he was talking to; no punches pulled, no holds barred. I kind of appreciated his honestly, but being the one of the only guys in a house with forty girls kind of warranted some sugarcoating. His blatant admission of everything he saw certainly had gotten him in trouble; he'd been nearly burned alive the very first day I'd shown up. I analyzed his face carefully; there wasn't a single scar or scab to be seen. He'd been taken to the Supreme's private greenhouse where she'd treated him immediately, and since I'd seen him right when he'd been extinguished, I could say she'd done a flawless job.

I looked around behind me. Where was Anna, the girl who'd lit him up? She mostly kept to herself. She seemed like that kind of person, even if she hadn't almost killed one of her peers the first week there. Instead I saw Kyle, the butler, dressed in his regular black suit, standing with his hands behind his back in the doorway. His eyes flickered from side to side, watching the students with a pleasant look, and made eye contact with me for a moment, smiling gently. I smiled back, then turned around.

I wondered where Zoe was too. Queenie certainly wouldn't be joining us; I hadn't seen her at all since she'd supposedly attacked the mob. I'd seen nothing of it, as all the students had been left in the big amphitheatres when they found out about the protests, but word spread like wildfire. I didn't even know if she was still in the Academy; I thought she was probably a little embarrassed. She'd definitely caused a lot of trouble. Not a day could go by without a swarm of reporters outside our door.

Suddenly, a loud "shhh" echoed through the room. Of course, it was Harley; she was only twelve or something – young enough to be in the junior class anyway – but was definitely the most annoying out of all the girls. She was loud and bossy, and always kind of looked constipated.

Everyone fell quiet. The commercials ended, and returned to the news program. It was a talk show program that usually featured politicians and other significant figures in society, but today was dedicated all to Cordelia. After the crowd at our door our Supreme decided it was time we started addressing some of the fears and rumours that were going around about us, otherwise it could only get worse.

It started off with a weird segment describing what had happened over the past couple of months – a strange montage involving old pictures of witch burnings in Salem and stills of ugly witch caricatures from kid's movies.

_"__For most of our lives, witches have been an important part in pop culture – as fiction,"_ she said in one of those weird news voices. She could've been talking about the traffic with the lack of expression in her voice. _"Film, literature, and fairy tales have all incorporated this character trope in stories that have defined us as human beings. However, just two months ago, the people of Earth were hit with the realization that magic is very real, and witches have been living among us for centuries."_

The montage ended, returning to the face of a pleasant, middle-aged woman with black hair and tan skin. _"Here with us today is Cordelia Goode, the leader of a coven of witches living in New Orleans, Louisiana right now, and Headmistress of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, where they train young witches to integrate into society."_ The woman turned to her left and the camera adjusted, revealing our own Supreme sitting in a little padded armchair beside her.

Cordelia looked pristine and beautiful as always, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders elegantly. God she was gorgeous. She wore a very simple white blouse and beige pants with a very simple golden necklace around her neck. On the end was a cross, hanging just over her cleavage.

_"__Cordelia, thank you so much for joining us today,"_ the interviewer began.

_"__Thank you for having me, Lisa,"_ Cordelia answered with a smile.

_"__Now, Cordelia…"_ Lisa began, adjusting herself_. "I think the question all of America is asking is… why now? Why is 2014 the year that your kind has decided to reveal themselves?"_

Cordelia thought for a moment. _"For many centuries, women like myself have been told many different things," _she began. _"Every mentality we have has been moulded and shaped by the Supreme – the leader that is – of that time. Some have told us that we ought to be ashamed of our abilities, and hide them – some have told us that it is a gift that we have a duty to share and use to better the world around us. But never have we been told that our powers are something that does not have to define us. Before we are witches, we are women, Lisa, and as the new Supreme I thought these young girls deserved to believe in themselves – to believe that this is not something that they have to hide."_

Lisa nodded, her chin rested on her fist_. "That's a very inspiring message. And the previous Supreme was your mother, correct?"_

Cordelia nodded, her face suddenly tensing up a little_. "Yes, Fiona Goode was the Supreme before me."_

A picture of Fiona appeared on the screen in the studio behind Lisa and Cordelia. Our own Supreme looked over, a sort of shocked look on her face. I'd seen the woman before… I never really knew what she did, or what she was known for, but she was sometimes on TV or in magazines. She was probably sixty or so, but she was beautiful for her age – short curls, sultry eyes and high cheekbones. Nothing like Cordelia's gentle, beautiful face. The picture, in which she was sensually holding her curls around her face in a Marilyn Monroe-type way, oozed Hollywood. I couldn't imagine what the coven would have been like under her leadership.

_"__Fiona Goode was known for being a huge celebrity across North America – a socialite, you could say. It wasn't out of place to see her on, say, a magazine cover, or watching the New York Fashion Week with Anna Wintour, or even on the arm of… George Clooney, I think it was? Yes, him, on the Oscars red carpet. I would think taking care of an academy full of adolescent girls with magic powers would be very time-consuming… how on earth could she manage to jetset across the globe, such an iconic American celebrity, while keeping this huge secret and take care of the coven?"_

Cordelia let out a reluctant laugh. Something was wrong. _"Well, my mother was a very… dedicated member of the witch community,"_ she began. She paused, and took a big breath_. "As her daughter I was always in charge of the academy, while my mother –"_

_"__Is it not the leader's job to take care of the rest?"_ the interviewer asked. Cordelia's face dropped.

The interviewer was obviously waiting for a response. _"Well, yes,"_ the Supreme answered_. "But seeing as –"_

_"__And yet you were chosen to take care of the children under the coven's care, rather than the most powerful witch? This is an academy, correct?" _

_"__Yes,"_ Cordelia said, barely even applying an authentic smile.

_"__So… Fiona Goode did not execute her job as leader of the coven,"_ Lisa concluded.

_"__I am called the Supreme, actually,"_ Cordelia answered. _"And Fiona did her best. She became the Supreme at a very young age."_

Lisa nodded. _"I'm noticing you're calling your mother "Fiona"… is there any particular reason?"_

The entire room was absolutely silent as we watched Cordelia struggle to find an answer. We were hoping this would be an interview to clear the air and help fight the stigma against witches… at least, that's why I'd thought was the purpose. Why was the interviewer intent on talking about Cordelia and Fiona…?

Cordelia bit her lip. _"I don't think I want to talk about my mother any more, thank you."_

A headshot focused on the interviewer. Lisa waited a moment, then a smile began growing, obviously a little frustrated and inauthentic. _"Certainly,"_ she said, straightening up and shuffling her notes. _"So, I guess we're obviously going to address the recent incident that happened in New Orleans."_

Cordelia nodded and straightened up. This was what she'd prepared for; this was what the interview was supposed to have been about. Clearing the air about the event with Queenie.

_"__What actually happened that day?"_ Lisa asked, leaning forward and placing a finger on her chin.

Cordelia took a deep breath. _"Honestly, the entire situation was a complete misunderstanding. It was our belief, when we saw the mob outside, that we were in danger. And then, when the doll was lit on fire – a symbolic representation of their… wishes, and beliefs – we thought they'd lit… a girl on fire. Needless to say, we were shocked."_

_"__So… the student ran out to save the girl?"_ Lisa asked.

Cordelia nodded. _"Yes. I understand it was a bit of a knee-jerk reaction, but witch burnings are certainly not something to joke about. We didn't want to hurt anyone; all we wanted was to help."_

Lisa nodded. _"For those of you unfamiliar with the situation, here was video captured by our own news team located in New Orleans of the entire event. Let's take a look."_

A video started playing on the screen. First there was a woman in front of a large mob, and the manor behind them. Then there was a loud bang and a terrified scream, nearly in complete unison, from the mob. For a brief second the woman had a look of panic on her face, frozen before the camera, before she ducked out of the way.

The faces had all been blurred out, but still nothing could be seen; the mob was entirely in the way. Then, with another scream, most of the surrounding mob were lifted into the air and thrown back, as if by some invisible fishhook. Then the camera revealed Queenie, the Voodoo Girl, in the centre.

She stood there in the centre of where the mob had been, standing right before the man with the cross. Something was shouted by the man, just before she pushed her hands forward once more and forced the man backwards. He tumbled through the air as though blown away by a strong gust of wind; the cross was left in the air. And then the video cut out.

Lisa and Cordelia turned back after watching the video. _"So, after this attack, many people have called for blood in the… witch community, I suppose,"_ Lisa said. _"Do you have any response to this?"_

Cordelia looked a little frightened. _"We didn't mean any harm. We were just afraid that someone was being burned outside our front doorstep… of course we didn't want to hurt anyone. And that stunt with the doll was extremely inappropriate, but we're willing to forgive the protestors if they are willing to forgive us."_

Lisa nodded, biting her lip. _"Now, we actually have a few callers lined up to ask some questions,"_ she said apprehensively.

The frame focused on Cordelia. Her face dropped even further. This interview was definitely not going as planned.

"Oh no," June whispered beside me.

_"__The first caller would prefer to remain anonymous," _Lisa streamrolled on. _"Let's hear what they have to say, shall we?"_

Cordelia began to argue, but a dial tone began ringing. Lisa looked up pleasantly, waiting for the call to connect. Cordelia reached over, as though trying to speak to Lisa privately, but the interviewer ignored her. After one long tone, the call was connected.

_"__Hello?" _the voice asked.

_"__Hello caller, you're on air with Cordelia Goode on the Limelight at 8," _Lisa said cheerfully. _"What's your question, caller?"_

It seemed there was only a moment's delay. Then, with a burst of static and strange distortions, a woman's voice, tinted with some accent I couldn't really place, flooded into the studio and out through the TV speakers to us. I watched as Cordelia flinched at the noise.

_"__How dare you wear the cross of our Lord on national television!"_ the voice began. _"How dare you! Don't you have any shame at all?! You're an abomination, you're disgusting, and you have the absolute nerve to show your disrespect and your blasphemy for our Saviour right in front of American families?!"_

It only got worse. All the blood seemed to drain from Cordelia's face; even the interviewer looked startled. The sitting room itself was absolutely quiet as we all strained to hear every word coming from the caller's mouth. I honestly couldn't believe it. It had to be a prank call or something. It was so absolutely ridiculous, so angry… I didn't even know people still said "Our Saviour" out loud.

But the woman's tirade kept on going. I decided her accent was Southern. Her rant made me want to laugh.

Finally the producers, or whoever's job it was to censor these things, cut the line. A few seconds silence passed through. Cordelia tried to regain her composure, but failed; I could practically read her embarrassment all over her face. It made me feel uncomfortable… I'd never seen our Supreme, the most powerful witch in the coven, without absolute control in her hands.

_"__Well, that was certainly passionate,"_ Lisa finally said. She, too, looked a little awkward. _"But it does raise a very good question… how does religion fit in with your belief system?"_

_"__Um, well… first of all, being a witch is not a belief,"_ Cordelia answered, placing her palm over her necklace. _"You can be a witch and believe anything you want. It's not a choice, it's not a practice… it's, it's who we are, and we can't… we can't change that. We don't know the answer to religion. We don't know anything more than you."_ Cordelia seemed almost close to tears. _"We're people, just like you."_

Lisa nodded_. "Well, we can have one more caller before the break,"_ she continued. Everyone in the room groaned. I looked over at Kyle. He seemed particularly bothered by seeing Cordelia like this. He almost seemed like he was going to cry. I turned my head back to the TV slowly, confused.

Cordelia looked panicked. _"You know, I don't think that's a good idea…"_ she started to say.

_"__Oh, come on, just one more!"_ Lisa said jokingly. She had to know it was a bad idea too. She laughed a little, perhaps too forcibly, because then even I could tell that she had no say in this. It had all been a trap.

They'd finally gotten the leader of the witches to speak. And now they wouldn't let her go until they all got to say what they wanted to.

Lisa cleared her throat and looked down at her cards. _"This one is from Dr. Amos Lang, the Head Priest of the… the Church of the Pure."_ Lisa shook her head slightly and cleared her throat. The dial tone started sounding, and we all watched as Cordelia braced herself. Finally the dialtone stopped.

_"__Hello?"_ It was a man's voice this time.

_"__Hello Dr. Lang, you're on the air with Cordelia Goode,"_ Lisa said as cheerfully as she could muster. _"What's your question?"_

There was a second of silence. "_Ms. Goode. Believe it or not, I was actually at the incident when one of your wards absolutely lost control. My good friend and colleague was the one that your student directly attacked; I myself was personally attacked, actually."_

_"__Oh, um,"_ Cordelia began. _"Well, firstly, let me formally apolo –"_

_"__I don't want an apology,"_ Lang said. His voice was firm and steady, deep and strong. _"My question for you is: what can you, as the leader or the Supreme or whatever you call it, of your coven do to assure the people of America that we are safe from the power of your kind?"_

Cordelia barely needed a second. _"Well, Dr. Lang, there have been people like us across America for as long as the country's existed. Most of us live in fear of being ostracized or being targets of hate… I am confident that if we as a society accept witches into our culture with love and respect, the –"_

_"__But the truth is that these powers could be used as weapons,"_ the man's voice interrupted. Cordelia frowned and bit her lip, obviously frustrated_. "In order to protect the people of America, these 'witches' should be distinguished among us. If just one of your students managed to simultaneously attack a whole group of people, what on Earth can you say that will convince us that we should trust our children with –"_

_"__Why does everyone seem intent on cutting me off today?!"_ Cordelia finally said. As she's been so quiet, they must've done something to her microphone to increase the pick up; this sudden volume increase blasted through our speakers. A few of the kids in the sitting room screamed; I flinched at the sudden shout. Cordelia covered her mouth.

_"__I'm very sorry,"_ Cordelia finally said. The volume on her microphone was cranked down, and now it was hard to hear her. _"I'm just –"_

_"__Magical powers, or whatever you'd like to call them, paired with this lack of self-control and this streak of aggression that seems to run through your kind make a deadly combination,"_ Dr. Lang cut off, once more. Cordelia said nothing. _"These are the kind of people that we only now know surround us every day. How much longer do we, the citizens of America, want to live knowing that our children could be taught by these people? That our government could be contaminated by these people? Who knows their boundaries? …The Church of the Pure is your advocate, America."_

And suddenly, the line went silent.

I found my mouth actually hanging open. The frame shifted from Cordelia's startled face to Lisa the interviewer's somewhat frightened expression. Had that actually just happened?

The sitting room burst into conversation as the interviewer cut to a commercial or something and thanked Cordelia "for being there". Lars was talking to himself, expressing his confusion, while June was shouting to someone that what they'd done wasn't fair… of course it wasn't fair. It had all been a set-up.

I shook my head. And then I started to feel it: the first pangs of fear. What would be waiting for us outside the manor?

**Kyle**

* * *

Hours after the program ended, I found my way upstairs to room I shared with Zoe. I felt mindless, almost numb. How I made it up the stairs without falling was beyond me.

I swear I stood in the doorstep for a solid ten minutes. This seemed to happen to me any time I had to think too hard. But finally I forced one foot in front of the other and made my way to the desk.

Amos Lang, Amos Lang, Amos Lang.

I pushed open Zoe's laptop and opened the browser. I stared down at the keyboard, my hands hovering above it like a ghost. Then, carefully, one finger at a time, I typed in "Church of the Pure" and pressed search.

I followed the links to the homepage of whatever cult it was that Dr. Lang was the leader of. It took me a good five minutes to find the right page, but finally I got to it: "Get to Know Us".

And of course Dr. Amos Lang was the very first person on the list. I looked carefully at the picture of him.

Grey hair. Receding hairline. Strangely big ears. Round, dark eyes, lopsided grin, plenty of wrinkles.

It was hard to tell, hard to see any similarities. But I stared at that fucking picture for a whole goddamn hour. I stared into those round, dark eyes until my own glazed over and I saw nothing anymore at all.

Amos Lang, Amos Lang, Amos Lang.


	6. White Eyes

**Cordelia**

* * *

Over the next couple of days I couldn't sleep a wink. If I was suffering from insomnia before, Jesus, I didn't want to know what this was. By the end of the second day I was more exhausted than I'd ever been in my life, but no matter how badly I wanted to sleep, my body wouldn't allow me to.

The second night after my now-infamous TV appearance, I sat in my bed at 2 am with my laptop open, watching the interview over for the hundredth time. I was mad, and irritated, and so ashamed. How did I let that interviewer run me over like that? How had I allowed myself to lose control? I'd been so careful… I'd planned so diligently, laying out my points so as to give the public an idea of what we were really like. Instead I'd made a complete fool out of myself and my students, and gave the anti-witch society out there more fuel to stoke their fire with to boot.

I got to the part where the interviewer allowed the leader of that church to call in. Dr. Amos Lang, Head Priest of "the Church of the Pure". I didn't want to listen to his voice any more. I didn't want to admit it, but… it frightened me. Not because it was strange, or particularly menacing in any way – he'd actually expressed his opinions in a very organized way, kind of like how I'd planned to. But it scared me because he could be anybody. He sounded like an average man, the kind of voice that could belong to a father, a brother, a husband. His voice could belong to anybody… and so, to me, it belonged to everybody.

I'd looked at his picture and read up on him a few times as well. Nothing remarkable: he was a family man from Louisiana as well, a professor of religion at a local college. And now, he was the leader of a witch-loathing cult.

I shut my laptop, a little more forcefully that I should have. Burying my face in my hands, I started to wonder if I was really cut out for any of this.

All my life I'd been in second-place, at best. My mother never loved me, I wasn't an especially good witch, I couldn't have children, people didn't listen to me the way they would a leader… my life was one big failure. Hell, I'd been wanting to be accepted for so long that I blindly walked into a marriage with, of all people, a witch hunter. It had all been planned… right from when we'd met all the way to the point where he murdered an entire clan of witches and died in the process. The worst part was, my mother had predicted it all. She tried to warn me… but I was so deprived of love and attention that I didn't even care anymore. He was the first guy to treat me kindly, and so I ignored all the clues.

I thought of my husband. For the six years I'd known him, I'd never assumed anything was wrong with him. Some witch I was. But he had so many opportunities to kill us all, to wipe out most of the known witches in the world. He lived in the Academy, for God's sake. But instead he went to Cornrow City and massacred the Voodoo Clan.

I got up from my bed and wobbled over to the end table across the room. I poured whiskey over a glass with ice and sipped it. The Voodoo Clan. The original witches.

All of our history books told us that magic was taught to us from the Voodoo tribes of Africa. Tituba, a black Voodoo witch, was the one who passed on that secret to the young girls of Salem… and that was the beginning of the end. When the witch trials ended the remaining witches travelled to Louisiana in hopes of finding a better safe haven, but little did they know that they'd walked right into Voodoo territory.

The Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau reigned over a whole clan of Voodoo priests and priestesses, and they loathed us. We'd perverted their magic to no end, to a point where one could say we were even more powerful than they were. But of course my stubborn ancestors didn't think of relocating any time soon, so for three hundred years the witches and Voodoos lived in a dangerous, unsteady cohabitation.

I actually shrugged to myself, as if I were giving a lecture inside of my own head. I paced back and forth, swishing the whiskey around in my mouth, letting the liquor scald the sores that I'd chewed inside of my mouth. I never had a problem with the Voodoos… we had so much to learn from them. They were an extension of our history, with endless resources that could teach us so much about the powers that we now had control over, but we burned those bridges. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was racism (probably racism), but either way the witches of Salem just couldn't cooperate.

And now the Voodoos were dead. I'd heard the entire clan had been wiped out when Hank ambushed their headquarters, located within the salon Cornrow City, all except for their leader. I still don't know how exactly she did it, but Laveau managed to keep herself alive for over two hundred years, and survived Hank's attack. Only once all of her family was gone did she come to us for help.

But Laveau was dead. The Voodoo tribe of Louisiana was nothing but an empty hair salon now.

It was a little strange that I was thinking about the Voodoos when my night was interrupted.

I nearly jumped when I'd heard it. It was a knock on the door… not the door to my bedroom, but the front door, a floor down and several hallways away. As Supreme my senses were hypersensitive, but still, they had to have been knocking very loudly for me to hear it from there. If it were during the day I would have let Kyle get it, but he was probably asleep. Most likely one of those strange guards would get it (I'd never seen them sleep or even go to the washroom, so I highly doubted they slept), but I wanted to see for myself.

I wrapped a robe around my nightgown and tucked my feet into my slippers as I pulled open my heavy door. The hallway was brisk and chilly and I tried to keep quiet as I hurried down the hallway, but every footstep in those slippers sounded like an echo in the Grand Canyon. If the knocking hadn't woken the girls already, I didn't want to be the one to do it.

As I got to the main hall, there was another knock on the door: three short, loud bangs. Maybe they were kicking the door…? As I was halfway down the left staircase I slowed down. The guards were nowhere to be found; all the lights were out, and I was cloaked in a veil of shadows. Standing there I allowed my sleep-deprived brain to catch up with me. What kind of person would be here in the middle of the night? No one good, probably. Most likely more protestors or something. Answering the door would not be a good idea.

Three more knocks. I felt my knees go a little weak; whether it was from my nerves or my physical and mental state at that moment, I didn't know. I stood completely still for a few seconds, like a statue.

Then I realized just how absolutely stupid I must have looked. Here I was, the strongest of all witches in Louisiana, afraid of answering a door. All the magic in this household flowed through me. I was the centre, the first witch and the best witch, and if the person knocking was aggressive, I had more than enough power around and within me to blow their head off with a flick of my hand.

I straightened up, pulled my robe tighter, and trotted down the stairs as quickly as I could. Gliding across the hallway, I let this confidence propel me forward… and open the door. Before I even had the chance to comprehend what I was doing. Stupid.

Standing before me on the front step of the academy were two people, and neither were particularly imposing. I don't know what I'd been steeling myself for, but it sure wasn't this. Catching my breath, I looked the two over.

The first was an old man. He had a big hooked nose, pasty skin, and wore a puffy vest over plaid. Typical fisherman type. He held his companion literally by the scruff of his neck. This companion was sufficiently shorter, even shorter than me, but probably as old as sixteen or seventeen. He had dark, messy hair that covered his downcast eyes… his pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. He had a dark, trench coat-type jacket draped over his shoulders.

The second I laid my eyes on the boy with the dark hair, I knew there was something strange about him. Part of being the Supreme meant that magic was something I could sense, could feel in the very air around me, and it was emanating from this boy like waves in the ocean.

_A witch?_ It couldn't be. It felt nothing like any of the girls in this school_. But something._

Before I could open my mouth, the older man started gabbing.

"This is Miss Robichaux's, right?" he grunted, his Southern drawl grating against my tired brain. He was a loud man, and I was not in the mood.

I closed my eyes for just a moment. "Yes, this is," I responded. "But I'm afraid –"

"Then here."

The older man pushed the dark boy towards me. The boy stumbled and bent over for a second, like a kicked puppy. I raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" I asked the man.

"You've been all over the news," he replied. "You take in… you know… weird kids, and all that. So here." I looked down at the boy. He still didn't seem to want to make eye contact. "This kid's more trouble than he's worth, and I've had enough of it. He's all yours."

"Hold on a moment," I said, trying to wrap my head around it all. Goddammit I needed sleep. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to comprehend just what this man was saying, and pinched my eyebrow. "You can't just… dump a child here, sir. There's an entire process that one has to go through in order to enroll a child into this Academy."

"I don't give a damn," the older man suddenly growled. The boy seemed to flinch a little. I opened my eyes and stared at this man. I didn't have to be Supreme to tell what this man was feeling. He was angry, and confused, and afraid. Like most people were in our presence, I'd found.

"It's here or the goddamn orphanage, I don't care," the older man said, turning away and waving his hand. He scuffled his worn work boots around on the front step. "We're done. This kid's been nothing but a problem for us since we got him. We don't want him no more."

"Please settle down," I heard myself say. "Can you come in for a moment, at least?"

It took another few minutes or so to get this agitated old man to at least listen to me. At that point, I saw – well, more felt, per se – students leaning over the banister from the second floor, trying to see what was happening. When I managed to convince this strange pair to come in, I turned around to see Enoch, the albino bodyguard, standing close behind me, dressed in full tuxedo attire.

I sighed. "Please follow me, gentlemen," I said. 

I sat at the little kitchen table across from the older man, with the boy in between us to my left. Kyle stood at the stove, dressed in flannel pyjama pants and a white tank top, making us tea. Enoch stood guard at the kitchen door, stoic and silent as per usual.

Now that they were out of the cold and a little more relaxed, I managed to get names. The older man reluctantly introduced himself as Bob Lester, a fisherman, naturally. He was the grandfather of the dark boy, whose name was Frankie.

Kyle placed a serving tray on the table, laden with all the fixings for tea and a plate of biscuits, leaning around Bob Lester to do so. This gave the old man a perfect view of the dark, thick scar that ran in a circle around Kyle's arm, as well as the matching scar right around his neck, like a permanent noose. Mr. Lester seemed to flinch away, and I could hardly help myself from rolling my eyes.

"That'll be all, Kyle," I told our butler. "But if you could make sure all the girls are in bed that would be great."

Kyle nodded and headed for the kitchen door. He'd been acting particularly weird since the interview… everyone was, predictably, as I'd royally humiliated myself, but he seemed especially distracted.

Before my mind could wander too far, I looked at Mr. Lester. The man didn't seem so tough, sitting at a kitchen table with me. Like his grandson, he seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye contact. Both were very awkward, but it was just making me more irritated than anything.

"So, Mr. Lester," I began, "what makes you think Frankie belongs with us at Miss Robichaux's?"

Mr. Lester shook his head. "He's a menace," he said. "He's been nothing but trouble for us."

"I'm afraid this academy isn't a place for troubled children, Mr. –"

"He does stuff."

I frowned. Mr. Lester seemed extremely uncomfortable, even more so than before. His arms were folded and he was frowning, staring at the teapot intently. The tension in the air around us was almost palpable.

"What kind of things, Mr. Lester?"

It took a while before I could get an answer. The man just shook his head and sighed, puffing the air out of his mouth each time. I gave him the time he needed. I wanted to find out exactly what this boy was, and to do so, I needed all the details I could get. But it sure as hell wasn't easy. I felt a dull throbbing on the right side of my brain.

"Weird stuff," Mr. Lester finally said. "Like… moving… things. Without touchin' em. Starting fires. And, he knocked his poor grandmother off her feet," he added furiously, staring at his grandson. Frankie didn't look up. I could barely see the boy's face; his chin pressed to his chest, he didn't seem to want to move.

"With his mind?" I asked.

Mr. Lester paused. Then he nodded.

I leaned back. "I see." I thought for a moment, opened my mouth, and organized my words one more time before I spoke. "Well, Miss Robichaux's Academy is, specifically, for girls… but above all it is a school for witches." At this word, Mr. Lester flinched. Even Frankie twitched. "And male witches aren't unheard of."

I was met with absolute silence once again. Mr. Lester just shook his head even more, as though he couldn't quite believe he was sitting in the kitchen of a witch academy. Probably a good minute or so passed in awkward silence… I sighed and looked at the clock. Not that the time meant anything to me. I probably wouldn't sleep this night at all anyway.

"It all started with that goddamn, filthy Negress," Mr. Lester finally said, breaking the silence.

That was when the maelstrom began. I spun my head around at the mention of that word and cricked my neck, which disoriented me for a few moments. But from what I did see, Frankie stood up, and in one fluid motion, he lifted both of his hands. First Mr. Lester's chair was dragged backwards, colliding with the wall, as Frankie's left hand pushed in that direction; then, as he raised his right hand, Mr. Lester was dragged up from his seat, hanging in the air, suspended completely.

I looked up in time to see Mr. Lester danging there, as if by an invisible noose. He was making small guttural noises as he clutched his throat, his legs kicking wildly. It was as if he were actually being hung right there. Frankie stood before him, one hand lifted.

The strangest thing was Frankie's face. When I gazed upon the boy, it was like time slowed around me; the panic drained from my body as waves of energy seemed to vibrate off of him and shatter onto me, drawing me in and pushing me out like the tides. His face was calm, almost serene… but his eyes were distorted. His eyes were white, pupils replaced with a glowing, milky orb. At first I thought his eyes had rolled back, but I distinctly saw them raised to his grandfather.

Enoch was hurrying towards us. He was charging directly at Frankie. Absent-mindedly, I shoved a hand in his direction, stunning the guard; Enoch fell to the floor, twitching slightly. Then I turned back to Frankie.

"Frankie, don't do this," I said, as calmly as I could.

Frankie didn't move. Mr. Lester's breath was becoming more and more ragged; his face was turning bright red, nearly purple.

"Part of having these abilities comes with the responsibility to use them properly," I continued. My voice was weirdly quiet and calm for the way I felt; it was like I was talking to a criminal in a hostage situation. "This is not right."

Mr. Lester's face was now turning blue.

"Frankie," I said one more time. I thought I saw the boy blink. "Let him go. We can figure this out. If you kill your grandfather I'm afraid I can't help you. Let me help you, Frankie. Please."

Another few seconds passed. Feeling helpless, I backed away, into the wall, looking up at Mr. Lester. Those seconds felt like an eternity as I willed for Mr. Lester to live. I pushed all my powers into this man, but I couldn't help. I was too weak. I was the least powerful Supreme in the history of our coven: I couldn't even stop a child from taking a man's life.

But those seconds passed, and I watched, as if in a dream, as Frankie dropped his hands. Mr. Lester was thrown down to the floor and landed on his stomach. I could hear the man wheezing and coughing. He was alive.

I looked up at Frankie. The boy's eyes had returned to normal. He stood there, silent, his mouth hanging open a little. Then he looked down, and his eyes filled with tears.

He got to his knees. "Grandfather…"

_"__Stay away from me, you filthy witch!"_ Mr. Lester wheezed.

The grandfather managed to raise himself to his feet, and stumbled a little. Enoch got to his feet quickly and efficiently, and approached Mr. Lester. The guard grabbed the fisherman's arm, then looked up at me. I nodded.

Mr. Lester turned on me, a finger pointed in my direction. "He's yours. I never want to see him, or you, again."

Enoch held Mr. Lester tighter and started to pull him in the direction of the door. Frankie sat on the floor, staring into nothing, the tears in his eyes dripping to the floor.

Once I heard the front door slam, and not a moment sooner, I slowly started moving towards the boy, grabbing the plate of biscuits on the way. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere soon, and frankly, I was too tired to move him.

"So," I said with a sigh. My voice was shaking, and as quiet as a whisper. Inside, I was shaken to my very core… never had I seen raw power like that. But this was a child I was dealing with, and he needed me to be calm. So I was calm. "I guess you're our newest student, Frankie. Welcome to Miss Robichaux's."

And with that I lowered myself to the floor, crossing my legs beneath me. I placed the plate of biscuits between us and started chewing on one absent-mindedly while I waited.

I think we sat there for at least three hours. I let my mind go absolutely numb until finally the boy keeled over, asleep and weak. But while I waited, I realized I'd seen those eyes before. Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen, had the same eyes… the same milky white film that covered them when she was channeling her powers.

Maybe, by some random chance, this white boy in front of me was the last of the Voodoo tribe.


	7. Kings of Old

Queenie

* * *

The next morning I got a knock on my door. I hadn't really been down to see anyone for a week or so… I didn't want to admit it, but I was embarrassed. I'd overreacted and thrown myself into trouble, hurting a ton of people on live television.

Why the fuck had I done it? I wasn't an irrational person. I should've waited, even a minute, to just process what I was seeing. It was kind of silly, now that I'd thought about it. I'd tried to fight an entire mob because they were burning a doll on a cross. Every time I thought of it my face grew hot and I had to bury it in my hands, I was so humiliated. It was by far the stupidest thing I'd ever done in my life, and I – along with every other witch in this fucking coven – had done some stupid shit. Including trying to fuck a Minotaur. Yep, I'd done that too.

Fuck it. This entire painful existence was just too fucking much. Ever since I was a child I was bounced from home to home, facing things both terrifying and ugly, working at degrading jobs where people could treat me like their fucking slaves. Moving to this academy was just a little step up. When that old couture cunt Myrtle came and found me, offering me a place in the coven, I thought maybe I'd finally found a place where I could belong.

But I was wrong. Like always. It seemed as though my life was just one big string of stupid decisions – some made by me, some made for me. Either way I was always the one who suffered the consequences.

When I heard the knock I was tempted to not answer it. I didn't really feel like talking to anyone, to be honest. But I knew they were probably just worried from me. I hadn't seen Cordelia at all in a week, and I only left my room really late at night to get food. I'd seen Kyle a few times – that Frankenstein bastard never seemed to sleep – but he knew better than to talk to me. At least they knew I was alive.

But my guilt got the better of me. It wasn't cool to just lock myself up. I'm sure Cordelia needed all the help she could get with the kids after that shitfest of an interview, and I'd been escaping my duties. Whether I was any good at it or not, I was a member of the Council, and I had a job to do… so I stood up, crossed the room, and opened the door.

It was Zoe. I frowned at her. She had that guilty, sympathetic expression plastered on her pretty white face, her big eyes all glowing and shiny. "What do you want?" I asked her bluntly. I wasn't in the mood to deal with her and her stupid fucking problems.

Before she could answer, I turned and walked back into my room, making my way back to my bed. A couple days ago I snuck out and bought the latest Vogue; Bey was on the cover. I'd read through it, cover to cover, probably fifty times. Nothing else to do. But I sat back down and flipped it open again, trying to look like I didn't give a fuck what she was going to say.

Zoe hovered in the doorway for a couple seconds, then stepped in. "Queenie… we're worried about you."

I snickered. "Worried about what?" I answered, as casually as possible.

"Well, you haven't been down in a week… and after the accident –"

"It wasn't an accident," I interrupted. "Those Bible-thumping fucks deserved it. That exhibition was messed up. Burning a doll on a cross in front of a witch house sounds like a threat to me, and I handled it my way."

I was met with absolute silence on her end. I didn't know whether I wanted her to leave or stay. I was lonely, and I missed Zoe… I'd barely spent a day away from her in months. But I didn't like people pitying me. It made me feel like I was less than them.

After a few more moments of silence, I saw her pull her long hair out of her face in the corner of my eye. Then, after a sigh, she spoke. "Cordelia wants to see you," she said. "Another student came in last night. It wasn't a very pretty situation. Besides, you might want to meet this kid."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" I asked without looking up, flipping a page of the magazine.

"Cordelia thinks he might have something to do with the Voodoo tribe."

The Voodoo tribe? He? I thought they'd all been killed when Cordelia's witch-hunter husband came in and massacred everyone but Marie Laveau and me.

I wasn't a Voodoo witch. Not technically. But I was a descendant of Tituba, the black witch from Salem who taught the little white girls her African magic, and my powers basically made me a human Voodoo doll; whatever I did to myself, I could project onto somebody else. When Marie Laveau saw this, she somehow lured me away from the coven and brought me in with her tribe… another place that I'd gotten that false sense of belonging. Instead of finding a home I'd nearly been killed in Hank Foxx's killing spree.

I was about to ask Zoe more, but when I looked up, she'd disappeared. I didn't want to go downstairs… that would mean I particularly cared. But I did care. Those Voodoo witches were kind to me, and they treated me like family. But all the "witches", or whatever they were, there were women. Never had I seen a male practitioner, even if Marie spoke about ancient Voodoo Kings every other day. This was something I wanted to see.

So I hauled my ass off my bed, changed into something clean, and made my way down.

I met Cordelia in the Ancestry Room, a beautiful sitting room filled with big portraits of Supremes that had passed on. Of course, she was standing in the corner, looking up at the portrait of her mother.

I looked up at the portrait with disdain. Everyone always talked about how beautiful Fiona Goode was, but ever since I was young enough to know about the socialite and recognize her face on magazines, I'd thought she was ugly as fuck. Big square head, beady little eyes, shrivelled up face… she looked almost scary. The portrait of her hadn't captured the vicious, pretentious expression she'd always carried on her in life. Even though I'd never known any other Supremes beside her and Cordelia, it was easy for anyone to say she was the shittiest leader of the coven in history. She was always either smoking, drinking or snorting cocaine, complaining about being old and trying to look fuckable. What a cunt.

I walked up next to Cordelia, who was also looking up at the painting with a disgusted look on her face. "All my life I'd been told how beautiful my mother was," the Supreme mused. "But really, she just looked like a huge bitch." Summed up my thoughts completely. I felt a little self-conscious… had she read my mind?

I turned away from Cordelia as she looked at me. I started wandering over to the grand piano, just so I wouldn't have to see that look in her eyes too. Pity.

"Why do you call her your mother?" I asked after a moment of silence.

A pause. "Because she gave birth to me," Cordelia answered. "Without her blood I wouldn't be the witch I am today. No matter what else she did, I always have to give her credit for that. Besides," she added with a chuckle, "nobody can say I was a worse leader after her reign of terror."

"She tried to kill all of us," I argued, still facing away from her. I lifted up a weird ornament on the fireplace on my way, examined it, and set it back down. "The second she felt her powers slipping away she tried to get rid of us all to keep the Supremacy, even you. Myrtle was way more a mother to you than Fiona ever was. So why do you call her that?"

"We can't choose our family," Cordelia said gently.

"Like hell you can't," I shot back, turning. "Up until I was eighteen years old families chose me. Over and over again, and they kept me until I was just another burden. I chose this family, didn't I?"

Cordelia didn't say anything. She just pursed her lips and gazed at me with her motherly eyes. Uncomfortable under her pretty blue eyes, I scoffed. "Don't look at me like that," I growled, feeling my face get hot.

She approached me, hands folded gently. "Queenie, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that was a soft subject."

I shrugged. "It isn't really," I answered, trying to be cool again. I felt my heart beating weirdly fast. I didn't like arguing with people.

Cordelia just took a deep breath. "If you want to talk about this later, I would love to, but I'm afraid at the moment we have another issue on our hands that should be addressed sooner rather than later."

I nodded and turned back to her. "The Voodoo boy."

"The Voodoo boy," she confirmed.

Just as her sentence closed, as if on cue, three people came in. First Zoe, then Kyle the Frankenfuck, and lastly a boy. He was probably only a couple of years younger than me, but he was really short, dark hair that hung in front of his face. Deep blue bags under his eyes basically screamed that he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before… few did on the first nights in the Academy. He dressed weirdly, with a Nirvana shirt and lace-up boots under a big black overcoat. I kind of expected him to have black nail polish and a tongue piercing too, but alas, I didn't see either.

But the first thing I noticed about him was his skin, ghostly pale and almost translucent, shining like the walls themselves. I had never, ever, heard of a white Voodoo practitioner. This had to be a fucking joke.

"Queenie," Cordelia piped up, stepping forward, "this is Frankie, our newest addition."

I nodded at him, and his only response was to avert his eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic… the last thing we needed was another creepy emo bitch skulking about. We'd had enough of those with the chick who set the trans guy on fire.

Watching the introduction carefully, Cordelia laughed uncomfortably, only making the situation more awkward. Kyle, in his perfectly ironed suit, stood behind Zoe as usual, blanking out and staring into space, while the Black Widow herself scuffed her shoes on the carpet underfoot. I rolled my eyes. We were one great welcoming committee.

"Let's have a seat, shall we?" Cordelia offered, gesturing over to the little cluster of chairs in the corner. She'd dragged three other chairs over from the drawing room or something to make a little circle around the neat little end table set between two big, plush white armchairs in front of a window. I marched over and took one of them because they looked comfy as all shit, and I wasn't disappointed. Cordelia sat in the other, while the other three awkwardly got into their own seats.

"So Zoe and Queenie make up the Council of Witchcraft," Cordelia explained, "and as Supreme I am leader of our coven." Frankie nodded shyly, his eyes flitting around the circle awkwardly. "There's no need to be afraid," Cordelia continued, leaning forward with a pleasant look on her face, trying to act personable. "We just want to know some of your history… we want to know who you are before you decide to join our coven."

"There aren't a lot of decisions left to be made," he said. His voice was deep and husky, quiet and powerful, catching me off guard. "It kind of seems like a lot of choices have been made for me."

The moment he spoke, something inside of me shifted, like ice dunked into water. His voice had a quality to it that I couldn't quite place… something near whatever I'd felt when I listened to Marie Laveau speak.

If it was true that this white kid had Voodoo blood in him, it would mean that he would be the new leader of the tribe. Not that there was anything to inherit, after all. I didn't want to believe it.

"I thought you were from the Voodoo tribe," I asked, piping up, lifting my chin slightly. He lifted his dark eyes to me, along with the other three in the circle. The more I looked at him, the more and more pissed I got… no fucking way was this little white bitch next in line for leadership of the Voodoos. If Marie Laveau was alive she would never have fucking accepted it.

"I… was never really a part of it," he answered, his sulky voice still low. It still caused that same reaction inside of me as soon as he opened his mouth. "But my grandmother was."

"And who was your grandmother?" I asked.

"Queenie," Cordelia warned in a low voice. Similarly, I felt a weird tug inside of me when she spoke like that, but instead of listening I just got more and more angry. Getting the same reaction from the Supreme of our coven and this kid would only justify his power.

"…Her name was Von," Frankie answered. "Yvonne Forneret."

"Von?" I asked, surprised. I'd known her. She was a woman who I'd known from Cornrow City. She wasn't a stylist, but she visited Marie often…. I'd spoken to her. She was in the shop the day Hank came. I never saw her body, but she'd died that day, I was certain of it. She was a cheerful woman, with a loud laugh and a wide smile. She always wore a tignon around her head and walked with a cane, even though she looked younger than Marie.

Frankie nodded. The anger flared up inside of me again. "How the fuck are you related to Von?!" I demanded, standing up. "How the fuck does a cracker bitch like you have anything to do with the Voodoo tribe?!"

"Queenie, that's enough!" Cordelia snapped.

"My mother, Von's daughter, was half-white," Frankie explained. He kept his eyes locked with mine, boring into them intently. He didn't seem offended or even surprised… he just seemed calm. "She was the product of an assault from some white men who didn't appreciate Marie Laveau and the free people too much. They got their revenge, but Von kept her baby. My father was white, too, but I hardly saw him. He didn't spend a lot of time in New Orleans."

"So, what, you're like a quarter black?" I shouted back at him. "That's fucking bullshit, you're white as snow!"

"Queenie, I said that's enough!" Cordelia shouted. She caught my attention, and stared into my eyes with her bright blue ones. They seemed to glow in her face, like balls of fire, smouldering me. Instinctively I sat back down, feeling the control of the Supreme rippling off her like waves. Zoe and Kyle felt it too, pushed back into their chairs as though they could avoid it. Frankie had his eyes on Cordelia now. He seemed fascinated.

Cordelia took a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair before sitting back down. "I'm sorry, Frankie, you shouldn't have had to see that," she apologized, chuckling a little. I crossed my arms and stared him down.

The kid looked down at the ground nervously. "It's alright," he muttered, picking at a nail. What a weird fucking kid.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you get to live with your grandfather?" Cordelia asked, still obviously flustered. She was running her hands up and down on her thighs as though wiping the sweat off. "I mean – obviously your father's father."

Frankie shrugged. "My mother and grandmother left one morning to go visit Marie… and they didn't come back." A hollow look appeared in Frankie's eyes, as though he were drifting into some faraway world. I would have thought he was zoning out if he hadn't kept talking. "I didn't really have anyone else to go to, and I'm not supposed to visit Marie's place alone, so I called my dad. He was going to drop by the next morning, but cops came that night and told me that… my mother and grandmother were killed." A finality filled his voice, but one without grief. Instead of pain, or sadness, his voice was just monotonous, devoid of all feeling. I frowned. "That night they took me to my grandparent's house. They're racist as all hell, so they weren't too glad to see me, but at least I had a place to stay."

The boy blinked and his reverie ended. He looked down. "And then bad stuff started happening, I guess. I didn't mean to do anything, but whenever I got upset… stuff would just happen. Stuff would move around… I set fire to the curtains once." He chewed on his lower lip. "I didn't really know everything that went on at Marie's salon… but I knew enough. Enough that I figured out what I was." He looked up, immediately locking eyes with me. They were wide, innocent. "I tried to control it, I really did. But I hurt my grandma on accident… and so I was brought here."

Frankie grew quiet again, folding his feet under his chair, hands clasped on his lap. Silence filled the air after his story. It wasn't a particularly strange one, not for people like us, but everyone was enraptured in his tale. Or maybe it was the power in his voice. After a few moments of silence, his eyes darted around the circle again. "I'm sorry?" he added, a questioning tone somewhere in there.

"No… no, Frankie," Cordelia corrected, shaking her head. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. This… is who you are. Things might have gone a little wrong along the way, but… you belong here."

Frankie frowned, his brow dropping. "I don't know about that."

Cordelia tilted her head a little. "And why's that?"

"Marie always said she hated the witches."

Zoe and I caught each other's eye. I knew better than anyone the hatred that Marie Laveau once held for us. It seemed to me she was trying to get me to speak up, her big eyes glistening expectantly.

I took a deep breath. "Look, I knew Marie Laveau better than anyone else here," I spoke up. Everyone's eyes turned to me, including Frankie's. "Probably even better than you. I was at the salon the day everyone was massacred."

Frankie's eyes widened. "You were there?"

I nodded. I didn't like remembering it… the terror, the screaming, the bloodshed. I killed a man that day. Not the first person I'd murdered, but something about his death was different. I'd stuck a gun in my mouth and shot it, but the bullet didn't come through the back of my head… it came through the back of his. I'd stared into his face as he fell.

"Only two people made it out alive… me, and Marie," I explained. "We came here. In her last month or so, Marie lived in this very house, with Fiona Goode and all of us."

Frankie still looked shocked. I didn't like his staring at me, but I could imagine what he was thinking. He wanted to know if I'd seen his mother. I very well could have. But I wouldn't be able to remember.

"Frankie," Cordelia piped up, leaning forward, "if you stay here… we can help you. The same way we helped Marie Laveau. We don't know much about the Voodoo clan, but… we will do whatever we can to make sure you and your people don't wither away."

The boy, looking back down at the floor like a shy child, shook his head. "I was never a part of the Voodoo clan."

"But you are now," Cordelia said. "You're the last. You're the Voodoo King."

Something heated up inside of me. "What?! What do you know about Voodoo Kings?!" I barked.

Cordelia sighed, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes. "Queenie –"

"So that's it? He's just going to live here with us? Walking around our hallways, with you crowning him as the fucking Voodoo King?! They hated you, Cordelia! They hated you! They would never let you do this!"

I was standing again, the heat rising in my face. But this time nobody was shocked. They were all just… disappointed. And frustrated.

"Queenie," Cordelia started again, "you are just… too much right now."

A few seconds of silence, then I turned. "Fuck this," I snapped. "I'm out of here."

I heard Cordelia call after me, but I was already gone. Back up the stairs, back down the hallway, back into my little room. My own little jail cell. And when I got there, I fell back onto my bed, hot and embarrassed and exhausted. And crying.

Too much was what she'd called me. Too much. Too much what? Too much attitude? Too much anger? I was always too much of something. But I was never quite enough. For anyone. For anything.

How long would it take before I could find where I belonged? At that moment I wasn't sure I even had the energy left to wait till then.


End file.
